Moment of Truth

Mid-way through Michelle Shocked’s song Anchorage, after listing her husband’s change of job and her son’s loss of teeth, comes a dreadful realisation with the words: “I sound like a housewife - Hey Chel, I think I'm a housewife…”

Such a moment of truth came to me recently – I think I’m middle-aged.

What prompted such a maudlin thought? Well, it wasn’t the fact that I’ve lost patience when queuing, or that kids and older people alike annoy me intensely. That’s been happening for years. Neither was it the discovery of a grey pubic hair during a routine shower-time inspection. The fact of my recent 45th birthday is also irrelevant.

The truth is that on Easter Sunday 2007 I joined the National Trust.

To be fair, the warning signs were there, just like the stark threats of painful and prolonged death printed on the front of cigarette packets, but I hadn’t noticed them. One brief glimpse however, at the Members’ Newsletter included in your Welcome Pack reveals how your life has changed forever: advertisements for stairlifts, denture creams and funeral plans. Then looking around the tea-room, you notice how everyone else has silver hair, walks with a limp or with the aid of a stick and the dreadful responsibility dawns on you: these people are now trusting YOU to protect the nation’s listed buildings and threatened countryside.

So much to do then with a life that’s already half way through!